


We Never Go Out of Style

by SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural Novels - Various
Genre: Cursed Object, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester Fluff, Dean Winchester Smut, Dean in Hell, Dean in Purgatory, Demon Dean, F/M, Fate, Flirting, Flirty Dean Winchester, Hunt, Hunter Dean, Hunters, Hunting, Kissing, Leviathans, Lucifer - Freeform, Mark of Cain, New Year's Eve, New Years Eve, Romance, Soulless Sam, Swan Song, a decade, all ten seasons, dad's on a hunting trip, dean is going to hell, history dean winchester, lillith - Freeform, ruby - Freeform, star crossed lovers, tossing a motel room
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4052182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop/pseuds/SupernaturalFlavoredLollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine you are on a hunt, and leave the shower to find someone tossing your motel room... a meeting which changes the course of your entire life.</p><p>As fate would have it, you continue to meet, over and over, throughout the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Never Go Out of Style

September 2005

 

You knew you'd heard a noise, but the sound of the water cascading form the shower head in the motel bathroom had obscured it. But you _knew_. Every sense in your body was telling you- there was someone in your motel room. You sighed. It wasn't the first time you'd been on a hunt and something or someone had broken into your room, but it didn't happen very often- you were more careful than that. Fake names, roundabout drives back to your quarters; you knew the drill.

 

You carefully stepped out of the tub, leaving the shower running so as not to tip off the intruder, and wrapped a towel around your body. You'd brought your gun into the bathroom- you'd unfortunately not brought your clothes. Not a smart move. You _really_ didn't want a throw down, fight to the death in a bath towel, but if that's what was about to happen, you'd brawl, towel or no towel. You took a deep breath, tightened your towel around yourself and tucked the end in so it would stay up on its own, and yanked the bathroom door open, pointing the gun out into the room. “What the _FUCK_ do you think you're doing?”

 

A young man in his mid twenties was busy tossing your motel room, but as soon as you opened the door, yelled, and aimed your gun at him, he leapt up and raised his hands in the air. He had to have heard the shower and known you were there; he had just been arrogant enough to think he was quick and wouldn't get caught.

 

“I, uh..” He ran a hand through his close cropped hair, and you could see the wheels of his mind spinning, coming up with a good reason as to why he was in your motel room, and why your belongings were all over the floor.

 

“Think quickly. I'm about three seconds away from calling the cops.”

 

“You're bluffing. Your ID is fake, the credit card you checked in with is fraudulent, and I _know_ you have an old vase stolen from the Moose Lodge around here somewhere.” He started to lower his hands. You gestured with your gun for him to keep those up in the air.

 

“How... how do you know that?” You looked this newcomer up and down suspiciously. Was he a hunter? It generally took one to know one... and he seemed to have you pegged pretty good.

 

“I did my homework.”

 

“So who the hell are you and why are you ransacking my motel room?”

 

“I need that vase. Dad and I are on a hunting trip and we need to destroy it.”

 

“You hunt with your dad? Where is he?” You looked around nervously for a second person.

 

“He's not here. He's getting the stuff to destroy this vase and the curse on it.”

 

“You don't think I know how to destroy an old vase?”

 

“You look perfectly capable of destroying plenty of things... but this isn't a regular old cursed vase. It has a special spell to get rid of the curse, or it just curses the next closest object when it's destroyed.” The man looked at you, his green eyes bright. His eyes glanced quickly to your towel, then back to your gun, and to your face, where your hard eyes stared back at him.

 

“Good to know.” You kept your gun trained on him. “But again, who are you?”

 

“My name's Dean. Dean Winchester. My dad is John. And he'll be picking me up from here any minute so I suggest you put the gun down and give me the vase.” This time he did lower his hands to his sides. He'd called your bluff. You'd decided in the first ten seconds that he wasn't going to hurt you. He definitely _could_ , but he wasn't going to. Therefor you weren't going to shoot him.

 

“That sounds familiar.” You sighed, dropping the gun to your side but keeping an eye on him. A close eye.

 

“And who are you? Agnes St. James isn't your real name, unless you're ninety.”

 

“Y/N.” You told him.

 

“You been hunting long?”

 

“I was raised this way. So yeah, you could say that.” You sat on the end of your bed, but your guard wasn't down. “How did you know about the vase? It seemed pretty cut and dry.”

 

“Dad saw another cursed object like this one a few years back, and my brother Sam figured out that the curse kind of... hopped along. We figured out a similar pattern with this one, but too late. Someone- you, I guess- had already stolen it to take care of it.”

 

You glanced at the door. So now there were three hunters? “So where's your brother??”

 

Dean laughed mirthlessly. “At college. He won't be bursting in, guns blazing, don't worry.” He looked around your room. “Really though, where is the vase? We need to destroy it.”

 

You got up, hitching your towel tighter, keenly aware of Dean's eyes on you even though he was trying to appear not to be looking. You pulled open the mini fridge, and removed a plastic bag from it. “It's right here.”

 

“You're just going to give it to me?”

 

“Why not? It's not like I have a burning desire to destroy an old vase if someone else wants to do it. There's a vampire nest a few towns over. I'll go take care of that.” You shrugged, handing the bag to the strange man.

 

“You don't want to come along? Learn how to uncurse a vase?” He wiggled an eyebrow at you.

 

You were caught off guard, but smiled. “Forgive me if I don't want to go destroy old relics with a guy who just broke into my motel room, _and his dad_.”

 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, sorry, this meeting probably ranks pretty high in the creepy department. I was planning on having this vase and being long gone way before you were even out of the shower. It's not really my thing to scare ladies while they're in the bathtub.”

 

You waved him out the door. “We're hunters, we do weird things. But you know, consider _knocking on the door and asking_ next time. Not that next time it'll be me. But you know, so the _next_ person doesn't just shoot you on the spot.”

 

He opened the door, poised to go out into the dark night. He turned. “I'll knock next time.” He gave you a dazzling smile. “I have a feeling there just might be a next time.” He winked, turned, and disappeared into the darkness.

 

 

 


	2. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You run into Dean Winchester again a few months later, at a bar on New Years Eve.

New Year's Eve, 2005

Tallahassee, Florida

 

Dean Winchester was not wrong that night in your motel room; the two of you were destined to meet again, over and over, as fate would have it. But neither of you knew that yet. The second time you ran into Dean, it seemed like a happy accident.

 

You were in Florida, having just finished dispatching a small coven of witches. It was New Year's Eve, and you'd stopped at McCarthy's, a dive on the outskirts of Tallahassee that everyone thought was a biker bar but was, in actuality, a Hunter bar. They were having a New Years party, and you'd been hunting non stop for months. You were going to have a little fun. You'd booked a room at the motel down the street and walked over like a responsible adult. You hadn't been there more than thirty minutes when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

 

“I had a feeling there'd be a next time.” A vaguely familiar voice spoke vaguely familiar words into your ear. You turned around, and found yourself staring into deep green eyes and a freckled face. You smiled, despite the fact that you'd met under decidedly odd circumstances.

 

“Dean! Wow. I definitely didn't think I'd run into you again.” You set your beer down on the counter. “I'm glad I'm wearing more than a towel this time.”

 

A taller man stood behind him. He cleared his throat, shooting Dean a puzzled look. “Um, am I missing something?” He asked. Dean turned to him and then gestured towards you.

 

“Y/N, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, this is the girl I told you about. The one who almost shot me trying to steal the cursed vase.”

 

Sam looked at him blankly. “A lot of people try to shoot you... that doesn't narrow it down.”

 

“The one in the towel.” Dean raised his brows for emphasis.

 

“Ohhhhhh yeah. That one.” A look of clarity came over Sam's face. It made you wonder exactly what Dean had told him. Sam turned back to you. “Nice to meet you. Sorry my idiot brother broke into your motel room. Thanks for not shooting him.” He shook your hand.

 

“No problem. Nice to meet you too, Sam.”

 

Dean looked you up and down, clearly appreciating your short skirt and red lipstick. “So, are you here with anyone? Friends?”

 

You shook your head. “No. Just me.”

 

“You're out alone on New Year's Eve?”

 

You nodded. “I just finished taking care of some witches. I figured I'd celebrate and then head up to Ohio. I hear Cleveland has a shifter problem.”

 

Dean nodded, and you noticed the look of relief in his eyes. “You're welcome to join us. We were just gonna get some beers and grab a table.”

 

“Actually, Dean, I think I'm going to head back to the hotel. I'm... I'm just not feeling it.” Sam ran a hand through his hair and eyed the crowd with weary eyes. The poor man looked like he hadn't slept in weeks.

 

“Are you sure, Sammy? One beer might do you good.” Dean seemed concerned.

 

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I'm not ready to be out yet doing... this.” Sam nodded again.

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Dean reluctantly asked his brother.

 

“No, no, I'm good. I need some time alone. You guys have a good night.” Sam turned to you. “Nice to meet you. Happy New Year.”

 

“Happy New Year, Sam.” You smiled at him, and he left the bar. Dean ordered a beer and you found a table. “Is Sam all right? I thought he was at school.”

 

Dean let out a deep breath. “Yeah... it's a long story.”

 

“Abridged version?”

 

“Dad went on a hunting trip and never came back. Sam came with me to look for him. Sam's girlfriend got killed by a demon. Now Sam's put law school on hold and is hunting with me.” Dean took a long pull of his beer. “This all happened in November.”

 

“Wow.” You were startled. That whole situation sucked, big time. “I can see why he wouldn't want to party tonight.” You were both silent as you finished your respective drinks. Dean got up to get another round, and came back.

 

“Okay, it's New Years. We can't be miserable all night.” He slid into the booth across from you. “You're a hunter. What got you into it?”

 

You sipped your beer. “My parents died when I was 16. My grandpa raised me. When I was 19 I found out they were hunters and had kept it secret; always telling me they were on “business trips.” Grandpa was a hunter, too. All the self defense dad had taught me, the marksmanship training... they'd known I'd find out eventually. I hunted with Gramps for a few years. He finally got taken out at 67.”

 

Dean nodded. “Sixty seven. Not bad for a hunter.”

 

“Not bad at all.” You agreed. “What about you?”

 

Dean nodded again, more slowly. “Mom got killed by a demon when Sammy was a baby. Dad raised us to be hunters. Or rather, he raised us not to die. Been living on the road ever since.”

 

“The prodigal son.” You said quietly.

 

“Pretty much.” Dean absently tore the label from his bottle. “So you were hunting witches. Was it that coven out of Pensacola?”

 

“Yeah. They were fairly basic. Honestly, I'd be embarrassed if I were them.” You leaned back. “But they wreaked enough havoc to have to be taken down.”

 

“You do anything else I may have heard of?” Dean's eyes had perked up now that you were talking about hunting.

 

“Maybe. The Salerno vamps last year.”

 

“No shit? You took care of them? Alone?” He seemed impressed.

 

“Yup. I always work alone, since Gramps got killed.”

 

“There were seven of them.”

 

“I snuck up on them. Took them out one by one. I planned it very carefully.” You smiled. “How'd you hear about it?”

 

“We showed up to clear them out. No vamps. Seven burned vamp skeletons.” Dean was looking at you appreciatively.

 

“How about you? Anything I'd have heard of?” You asked. You didn't know it yet, neither of you did, how legendary the Winchesters would become. In 2005, you were both just good hunters, bungling along. Neither of you had any idea of the great hunters you would become, or the things you would have to go through to get there.

 

Dean shrugged. “I don't know. Sammy and I just took care of a Hook Man in a church. That was kind of weird.”

 

“I think I did hear something about that. His hook was part of a cross or something?”

 

“Yeah. It was bizarre. And the preachers daughter had the hots for Sam but he wasn't having any of it. Too soon.”

 

You could see where that could be conflicting. Poor guy had just lost his girlfriend.

 

“So what are the odds we'd run into each other so soon? Or ever?” Dean leaned in closer to you.

 

“Not good, actually. It's a big country. With us crisscrossing it all the time, the odds are damn near zero.” You leaned in as well. “Maybe it's fate.”

 

“Sweetheart, I don't believe in fate.” He countered. “Maybe it's luck.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“You know it's getting close to midnight.”

 

“That it is.”

 

“And it is customary to kiss someone at midnight on the new year.”

 

“Also true.”

 

“So what are the chances you won't shoot me if I try for a kiss at midnight?”

 

“Chances are pretty good.”

 

“Pretty good?”

 

“75/25.”

 

“That's pretty solid. I'll risk it.” Dean grinned, standing from the table and reaching out for you as the countdown began. You took his hand, and he led you out onto the floor, into the crowd. At the stroke of twelve, he spun you into him, tilted your chin up towards him, and pressed his lips to meet yours. Your kiss lasted longer than just the customary few seconds at midnight. Your arms circled his neck as he pulled you in closer. Finally, noticing you were gathering some stares, you both broke free, slightly breathless.

 

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

 

“Happy New Year, Dean.”

 

_to be continued_

 


	3. Burning Flames or Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year, and the Winchesters track you down for an unexpected purpose. You are happy to see Dean, but you find out some unfortunate news.

“Nice of you to show up.” You heard a voice and looked up from your morning paper. It was a voice you hadn't heard in a very long time. Over a year in fact. Your thoughts momentarily floated back to a frenzied meeting in a motel room, and a second encounter on a New Year's Eve that ended in a kiss and an awkward goodbye; you quickly brought your imagination back to the forefront.

 

Dean Winchester had parked his Impala behind you, climbed out, and approached you, followed by his brother. Sam looked much better physically than he had the last time you'd seen him; however the worry was still deep in his eyes. You were leaning against the side of your old beat to shit Camaro. You folded your paper and stood. “Don't mention it.” You shrugged.

 

“So we meet again.” Dean gave you a saucy look.

 

You returned the smile. “I still don't know how you two found me though. We didn't exchange numbers and I've switched phones six times since last time I saw you.”

 

Dean smiled. “Had a guy named Ash track you down.”

 

“Why?” You were beyond curious. He hadn't told you over the phone. He'd just asked to meet you, specified this little town in Nebraska, and left you to wonder.

 

“Maybe I couldn't get you off of my mind?” He winked at you. Sam made a gagging noise behind him.

 

“Seriously.” You gave him a flat look.

 

“We need information and... shit. I guess I'd better start at the beginning.”

 

“That's generally a good place to start.”

 

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So we stumbled upon you on accident.”

 

You frowned.

 

“No, hear me out.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“We needed some... specific information. We went to Ash to have him research for us, and he discovered that the person who was the best authority on this... information... was your Grandfather.” Dean looked at the ground.

 

“My dead grandfather.”

 

“Your dead grandfather.” Dean nodded, looking sheepish. Sam looked tortured behind him. You wondered why.

 

“What information did you need?”

 

“We need to know everything there is to know about how to get rid of Hellhounds, and the in's and out's of pacts with the Devil.” Sam finally said something.

 

“Um... my Grandfather was an expert on this?” You raised your eyebrows. If Gramps had known about this stuff, he'd never passed it along to you. That was some weird shit to be an expert in.

 

Dean nodded. “Apparently. And it's really important that we have this information, like, stat. Do you have any of his old stuff?”

 

You shook your head. “I don't have anything like that, no.” You stopped. “Wait. Why do you need to know about this? Hellhounds? Are you fighting Hellhounds? _Why are you messing with Hellhounds are you crazy?_ ”

 

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. “You need to tell her, Dean.”

 

“Tell me what?” You put your hands on your hips. You weren't all that pleased to find out that they'd called you up because they'd accidentally stumbled upon you searching for someone entirely different, or that Dean was not not being completely forthcoming with information. You'd only met him twice, but you kind of liked the guy. You were wondering if maybe you shouldn't.

 

Dean looked at you. “Listen... can we go somewhere? I need to talk to you, alone.”

 

“It's that important?”

 

He nodded. “It's very important.”

 

“I'll drive.” You got back into your car, indicating to Dean to get into the passenger side.

 

“Sam, I'll see you back at the motel in a while.” Dean called over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah. I'll keep searching.” Sam caught the keys Dean tossed to him, and levelled himself into the Impala.

 

You pulled away from the curb. “Where do you want to go?” You asked him. The light of day was fading, and it was quickly becoming night.

 

“There's a lake over that way. Just pull up to it. We can sit on the hood.” He leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. You glanced at him questioningly, but headed to the lake. What the hell was going on?

 

The lakeside was abandoned, so you pulled your car almost to the waterline, and you both sat on the hood, leaning back against the dirty car window. Your arms brushed each others, but neither made a move beyond that. You finally turned to him, the silence lingering too long. “Ok. Spill.”

 

He let out a long breath. “I made a deal, Y/N.”

 

“A crossroads deal?” Your heart sank. Why would he do that?

 

He nodded. “Sammy... Sammy died. He got murdered. Almost a year ago. I made a deal. To bring him back.”

 

“So we have nine more years to figure out how to undo this, then?”

 

“No. They only gave me one year.” He looked out across the dark water.

“One year.” You murmured.

 

“And it's almost up.” He continued to stare. “We've exhausted our resources. This was our last one.”

 

You closed your eyes. You had been through all of your grandfathers belongings multiple times. There had never been anything about Hellhounds or crossroads deals. He's kept that information somewhere else, far from you. You had nothing to give. “I... I'm sorry, Dean. He didn't leave me anything like that.”

 

He looked down at his hands, then smiled up at you, but you could see sadness behind his eyes. “It was a long shot.” He reached out and touched your cheek. “Hey, hey, it's okay. I made my bed. Now I have to sleep in it. And at least I saved my brother.” He brushed a tear away from your eye, running his hand down your face, down your arm, and lacing his fingers with yours. You sat that way for a long while, listening to the crickets playing their night music out in the grass.

 

You leaned against him, and he put an arm around you. “You know, it's a strange coincidence that your research led you to me.”

 

“I thought so too.” Dean's breath ruffled through your hair as he spoke.

 

“I guess we won't get to find out if there's a reason.”

 

“Luck.” You could feel his smile. “It's luck, Sweetheart.”

 

“How is this lucky? I can't even help you.”

 

“I get to see you. That's a bonus, for me at least. I've been thinking about you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I wondered what happened to my mysterious towel wearing, gun toting, New Year's Eve girl. Now I know.” He tightened his hold on you.

 

“I wondered what happened to you, too. I just... wish it weren't so tragic.”

 

“You and me both.”

 

You both sat out there for a long time, and eventually nodded off. You woke up cold, to the early light of morning. And a thought nagging at the back of your mind. You suddenly sat bolt upright. You turned, nudging Dean awake.

 

“I'm up, I'm up. What's wrong?” He asked, going from asleep to alert in 2 seconds.

 

“Nothing's wrong. I might have the answer to your problem.” You looked at him, wide eyed. “Andrew Sinclair.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Andrew Sinclair.” You repeated yourself. “My grandfather had one contact in his book that I never met. He never let me meet him, never let me come along on their hunts. His name was Andrew Sinclair. I think he may know about the Hellhounds and crossroads deals. I think Gramps kept me away from him to be safe.”

 

Dean's eyes lit up, but you could tell he was trying to be cautious. “Do you know where this guy lives? How to get hold of him?”

 

You nodded. “I have the contact book at my motel. I can try to call.”

 

“Let's go.”

* * *

 

“I'll call you as soon as I contact him in Tampa. The second I have news. I will call you, Dean.” You were standing outside of your motel, your bags thrown into your car, ready to go. Andrew Sinclair hadn't answered his phone. Voice mail every time. You were heading to him, to get answers. “Are you sure you can't come with me?”

 

“I can't. We have another lead. It's smarter to split up and cover more ground.” Dean looked stoic. You could tell he wanted to come with you, badly.

 

“Be safe, Dean.” You were trying not to cry. You knew the odds were against all of you. “I'll drive fast.”

 

He smiled. “I know.” He leaned down and kissed you, gently on the lips. He pulled away, but you grabbed him and pulled him back, for one more. Then you got in the car and roared away. You knew you were their last hope.

* * *

 

The phone rang an agonizing number of times before it was answered, but not by Dean. It was answered by Sam.

 

“Sam. Sam... Is Dean there? Andrew Sinclair... he's dead. I'm sorry. I don't have any help for you. There's nothing here but an empty apartment.” You rapidly explained.

 

“Y/N... stop. It's... it doesn't matter.” Sam sounded weary.

 

Your heart was in your throat. “Why?” Your question was met with silence. “Sam, _why doesn't it matter?_ ” You were pretty sure you already knew.

 

“Because Dean died this morning. The Hellhounds got him. It's over.”

 

_to be continued_

 

 

 

 


	4. Long Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean dead and in hell, your pursuit of a demon named Ruby leads you full circle back to Sam Winchester, with a shocking result.

Pt 4: Long Drive

 

_October, 2008_

 

It had been a long five months, most of it spent on the road or in libraries. Since you had failed to save Dean five months ago, you'd had no contact with with Sam other than a brief text you'd received, telling you where you could go to pay your respects. You'd driven out to the desolate spot where the younger Winchester had decided to lay his brother to rest, and spent an afternoon there sitting in the tall grass. It had been late spring, and the location had been beautiful then. You'd wondered about the man buried there; the circumstances regarding his mother's death, the path his father had chosen to take them on to try to keep them safe, the fierce loyalty he had for his brother that would lead him to sacrifice not only his life, but an eternity in hell, just to bring him back. You'd wondered other things too. You'd met three times, under three very different set of circumstances. Dean may have not believed in fate, but you weren't so sure. No one crashed into each other three times in such strange ways, scattered all across the country, for no reason. But as the lights grew dim, you realized that whatever the reasons could have been, they had faded out like the light. You had left some flowers on the grave, said your goodbyes to the man you'd never really know, and made your way back to your car.

 

After that, you'd tried to locate your grandfather's files, or anything left of them, on the sneaking suspicion that they had been given to Andrew Sinclair. Your research had eventually turned up a storage unit in Tampa filled with old case files; Sinclair had documented everything he had ever hunted. Most of it was useless. Everyone and their mother knew how to kill a vampire, get rid of a vengeful spirit, or destroy a cursed object. It had taken close to a month to wade through all of the bullshit, until you hit pay dirt. It was a file on a demon who went by the name “Ruby.” Only Sinclair hadn't hunted her. He'd only watched her, documented her popping up from time to time, hopping from body to body, not being an asshole. He didn't seem to be able to figure out why. Then, the file stopped. Sinclair had died in 2005. And, as you'd assumed about halfway through your perusal of his storage unit, there was no record of any of this “Hellhound and Demon” expert stuff. Both of these old men had taken it to their graves. You had found it ironic at first that they'd both been taken out by demons- now you were beginning to think that it wasn't a coincidence at all. Taking out the experts and wiping out their knowledge was a hell of a plan.

 

You'd decided that if this Ruby character was at least moderately helpful, maybe she was worth looking into as well. Maybe she could get the lowdown on Dean. Maybe she knew a loophole. You knew he'd made the deal and he'd known what he'd end up with... and you barely knew him... but truth was you needed a quest. You needed a reason to get up in the morning. You had no family. You had no home. You'd barely felt like you had a reason to keep going besides hunting, before _or_ after you'd met the Winchesters. Dean being aced by some Hellhounds had inadvertently given you something to do.

 

You'd been looking high and low for strange occurrences, but finding _one_ specific demon who didn't want to be found was hard to do. Finding random ass demons who possessed a body and then killed it was easy. Ruby was in the wind. You had to think outside the box. You weren't having much luck until you were actually goofing around one day and came upon one of those “strange science” stories online. A young woman who'd been diagnosed as brain dead for months had suddenly sat up from her hospital bed, gotten up, and walked out of the hospital. As much of a stretch as that seemed to be, you decided to check it out.

* * *

“So walk me through what happened one more time, Doctor Sims.” You opened up your little notepad and looked at the physician, trying your best to seem like you weren't excited. “I need all of the details you can remember this time, though. Every single one.”

 

“Well, I'd just turned to Dr. Pachenko, and nodded at him to pull the plug.” Doctor Sims told you. He was looking down into his paper coffee cup. “We were sad about it. She'd come in a few months before. Jane Doe- we had no idea who she was. Found her in a park. Total organ shutdown. There was nothing we could do for her. We'd tried everything.” He shook his head.

 

You jotted it all down. “And then what happened?”

 

“You really need all this again?”

 

“I need to make sure I type it all up exactly right.” You smiled. “Journalistic integrity is important.”

 

He shrugged. “Well, she sat boly upright, took a deep breath, looked at Pachenko, looked at me, and said something like 'What do I have to do to get some French Fries around here' or something like that. Then she got up.” He took a drink of coffee with shaky hands. “I've never seen anything like it. I told her she needed to sit down but she said she had places to go. I asked her what her name was.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“She just turned and said 'They call me Ruby' and ran out the door. No one could catch her. We found out from security later that she'd made it to the locker room and stolen some clothes, made it out the back entrance, and hot-wired Jennifer Landon's car. She'd headed east. That's the last we saw of her.” He let out a long sigh, but smiled. “To be honest, I'm not upset. She made a miraculous recovery. What's a few clothes and a car?”

 

You didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him that his Jane Doe was very much dead and possessed by a demon, so you just nodded, finished writing, and hoped you were containing your enthusiasm. You got up. “Thank you so much, Doctor Sims. The Daily Planet will contact you if we need to check anything and if this goes to print.” You shook hands and left.

 

You had found her. Now where was she headed?

* * *

You didn't have to look very hard. Along with hot-wiring Jennifer Landon's car, she'd left it at a Gas'N'Sip in Omaha. Switching it up, you pulled your FBI badge and asked the gas station employee there to see the tapes from the night the car was left there. He recognized your photo of the girl, Ruby, and said she'd met a tall guy with long hair there who had come in to buy gas in the late afternoon. You looked through hours of tape, and then your jaw dropped. Shortly after Ruby's stolen car pulled into the lot, a big, black 67' Impala drove up to pump number 3, and Sam Winchester got out. You almost fell out of your chair. You pulled out your phone and searched through your numbers. You'd switched your burner phone twice since Dean's death, but you'd kept Sam's number for some reason. You texted him. You looked back at the screen. This had been two months ago. The only reason they still had the security footage was that the cops had told them to keep it.

 

_Sam, it's Y/N. I need help with something. Where are you?_ You sent to him. You waited.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, you got a response.  _Y/N, I'm in Sioux Falls... couldn't reach you before. You need to come up._

 

_Why?_ You sent back.

 

_It's important. I'm at a family friend's house, Bobby Singer. Please come. Can't text this you won't believe me._

 

You got up and left, thanking the kid behind the counter. Looked like you were going to Sioux Falls, and hopefully catching yourself a demon.

* * *

 

You drove straight through the night and half way through the next day, up to Sioux Falls. The address Sam had texted you was on the outskirts, and it was an old car salvage yard. You'd looked up Bobby Singer; he was a middle aged man who owned the yard and appeared to have a drinking problem. You were pretty sure Sam was a good guy, but you prepared yourself for an ambush anyway, gun in your waistband, knife in your boot and pocket. You drove up the gravel drive to a house, the windows lit up, looking warm and inviting, juxtaposing how you felt about the current situation. You got out, quietly closed the door, and were about to approach the porch when you heard a familiar voice from the darkness. A voice that _could not be_.

 

“Miss me, Princess?”

 

You turned, seeing a figure leaning against the side of the house. He flipped the porch light on, and there in the light was Dean. _Not dead._

 

You had your flask of Holy Water out in two seconds flat, dousing him in the face. It didn't burn him. He didn't even throw up his hands or try to duck. “You're dead.” You eyed him skeptically.

 

“I was. Yeah. Very dead.” He wiped the water from his face, but made no move towards you, sensing that you were scared.

 

“How? How are you back?” You kept your distance.

 

“It's a long story.”

 

“I'm not coming any closer until I have an answer.”

 

“An angel came and got me.”

 

“A _believable_ answer.”

 

“Honest to God truth.” He pulled the sleeve of his tee shirt up, revealing a hand print burned there. “He left his mark.”

 

You peered at it, then looked around. “Sam sent me here. Where is he?”

 

“He's not here. He's off somewhere with-”

 

“Ruby?”

 

“You know about her?”

 

“I've been tracking her. I tracked her to Sam. Yesterday.”

 

Dean was silent. “I didn't have any way to find you.”

 

“What?”

 

“I've been back a month. Your emails get returned. Your phones are turned off.” He shrugged. “I was gonna give you a call, I hear girls like that.” He smiled a little half smile.

 

You smiled back. “It _is_ you, isn't it?”

 

“Kind of.” He shrugged. “Mostly. As much of me as can be back.”

 

You approached him, finally, putting a hand gently up to his face. “Four months in hell is a long time.”

 

“ _Four months_.” He smirked. “Yeah. Yeah. It is.”

 

“What's that tone for?”

 

“I was in hell for forty years.”

 

You just stared at him. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He placed his hand on your waist, pulling you a bit closer. “Why are you looking for Ruby?”

 

“It's a long story. But I thought she might be able to find you.”

 

“I guess you technically weren't wrong.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement.

 

“I guess not. This was a little faster than expected.” You chuckled.

 

“How about we save our long stories to talk about in the morning over coffee, and do what we should have done two years ago, _tonight_?” Dean grinned down at you, his hand snaking up your back, drawing you towards him. His body was warm. You could barely believe he was standing there in front of you, _with you_. He'd been gone, and now he was in your arms. _This couldn't be coincidence_.

 

“Isn't someone named Bobby here?” You looked around nervously.

 

“Nope. Bobby is with Sam and our resident Demon-girl.” Dean took your hand, kissed your palm, and looked into your eyes. “It's just you and me tonight. That is, if you're interested.”

 

You melted. You stood on your toes, kissed him on the lips, and smiled. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

 

_to be continued_

 


End file.
